


Come Hell or High Water

by Calesvol



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Alternate Universe - Historical, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blood and Violence, Crossdressing, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Gender Issues, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Pirates, Royalty, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-27 00:24:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15674283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calesvol/pseuds/Calesvol
Summary: When Princess Lunafreya Nox Fleuret-Grimaldi's home of the Kingdom of Monaco is under attack by the Kingdom of France, Lunafreya has no choice but to disguise herself as a deckhand known as Frey and smuggle herself across the Mediterranean to find allies and the power necessary to wrest her home from the hands of those who stole it from her.





	Come Hell or High Water

Warning(s): M, violence, death, rape mentions/attempt

* * *

When she was a girl, she’d always been told to keep her nose out of books. For she was a royal, learned lady who did not need the drivel that came from the Calvinists or the Lutherans. Nor need she bother herself with those droll German fairytales that would only populate her dreams with nightmares. These, at least, were what her governess, Maria, had staunchly advised against. But, in the late of night, beneath the Monacan moon did no such judgment exist. Armed with an exotic Moorish lamp left from the times of Moorish Spain, its flickering light cast meager gold upon the intricate gold moldings that filled the hall’s panels like individual frames of art. Marble floors were hushed by the slippers Lunafreya wore, darting into an empty room when she thought she heard the clangor of armor of the night watch.

Though the consequences wouldn’t be too dire, the unwed heiress of House Fleuret-Grimaldi still had her dues, her image so long as her older brother reigned as Crown Prince. He’d call this defiance childish, she knew it. The way her hair bounced unbound and scandalously, running like a forest maiden in her long shift and slippers—it was the stuff of peasantry, he’d exclaim. Lunafreya had heard it before. That she wasn’t more like her twin, Stella, had always been a cause of ire in him.

“Here it is,” Luna whispered to herself in quiet victory as she lowered the oil lamp some, her smile quiet and assured. She toed her way into the library, ensuring that she was completely alone. Remembering her place in the last tome she’d been reading, an old book on Greek tragedies, she scampered over and cracked it open to read on her brother’s desk. Lucky her, he was away in Paris.

Barely a few hours in, the German-made turret clock on the desk seemed to tick louder, indicating the midnight hour. Lunafreya shivered to herself in what felt like anticipation, always relishing in the small defiance reading so late meant to her. A shred of independence where she otherwise did not have it.

Settling into the overstuffed upholstery chair, she pored over the book, losing herself in the conflict of Heracles and his twelve labors amid its pungent, illuminated script.

The distant sound of something thunderous caught her attention, Lunafreya’s brows furrowing. It had likely been her imagination. That, or because it was summer a thunder storm was on its way. Nothing unusual for Monaco. She resolved to ignore it and resumed reading.

Yet, minutes later, the thunder rocked louder. Blonde brows furrowed, disgruntled by the noise, but reminded herself it was merely thunder. At this point, she strove to concentrate on her reading almost out of cosmic spite of whatever forces conspired to interrupt her.

However, an explosion brightly flamed in the harbors surrounding Monaco City, its brightness touching even her features from the bay windows that overlooked the Mediterranean. Rising in slow disbelief from the seat she scooted out, horror trickled precipitously on her pale features as she watched what terror unfolded. Blotted black spots that shape of ships encroaching from the horizon, Luna transfixed as she edged closer to the window and watched in disbelief as one of the ships in Monaco’s fleet burst into a pillar of flame and sky-choking plumes of smoke. Like a bonfire lit faraway, down the steep plunge into the waters.

Though the moon seemed to passively scintillate on the ocean, it was interrupted by what could only be a flotilla. Heart hammering in her chest, she crept closer to the windows, tepidly trying to peer through the darkness for the standard they flew. And when she confirmed it, Luna’s heart skipped a beat.

They were the standards of the Kingdom of France’s navy. They were under siege.

Lunafreya wheeled back with a shriek when something launched from a trebuchet mounted to the larger galleons managed to graze the base of the castle from so impossibly high up, her heart pounding as the flaming ball of hay and clay mud crackling just outside the window.

“Lady Lunafreya!” Luna whirled at the sound of Maria’s voice, as panic-stricken as the young woman was.

“Maria, what’s happening?” Lunafreya demanded once both women touched, the matronly governess steadying Luna by clutching her biceps. “Why are we under attack by the French King?”

Maria gulped when she saw the flaming projectile outside, shaking her head. “Lord Ravus’ negotiations went sour. He was unwilling to allow the King to take you as a wife and peacefully annex Monaco and Genoa. He imprisoned Lord Ravus just a day before and we received word just an hour ago!”

Lunafreya felt herself pale at the thought of King Henry II of France, the one Ravus had been engaging in Paris for the past week. How had things soured so quickly? Schooling her features calmly, she took Maria by her shoulders. “Maria, please forgive me, but I am going to escape. I will go to our uncle Domenico in Genoa. That, or I shall go on to Spain where Stella is. Surely the Habsburgs would help us in favor of the Valois. But first, I must disguise myself.”

“Disguise yourself, Highness?”

Luna smiled mirthlessly. “I have…something of a double identity, Maria. I’m sorry, I never told you—it was only a stupid dare at first, but…it’s helped me. Please trust me.” Maria nodded solemnly.

“Godspeed, my little moon.”

* * *

Dashing to her quarters, the manservants and handmaidens and other in-house court officials in a frenzy, Luna was able to slip through the chaos and find her old disguise. Though she hadn’t donned it since her late teens, it had been instrumental in providing a sense of freedom a woman of her rank otherwise couldn’t enjoy.

Tonight, she was going to become Frey, the deckhand.

Quickly, with a dirk did Lunafreya sheer off her hair—beloved symbol of femininity as it was—and cut it close to her scalp save for fringe over her ears and preserving her side-bangs somewhat. Though it wounded her to do, she had no other choice. Digging through her chifforobe, she produced a pair of leggings, a worn smock, and beige tunic to wear over that. Leather thongs were also found, and wrappings to conceal scandalously soft hands.

Lunafreya changed, and quickly. Faster than she could think and thank the Lord it was all automatic for her. She finished it off by tying a brown strip of cloth around her head as she commonly saw sailors do.

Before long, she was able to creep from her chambers with a knapsack of unassuming provisions gathered for her by her handmaid before the girl had fled, leaving Lunafreya on her own.

Outside the hall, the guardsmen of House Fleuret clashed in the very halls as she watched on in horror as they began looting her childhood home. Memories of a failed invasion in her girlhood by the German House Aldercapt caused her blood to curdle, but the blonde forced herself to press onwards. No one would mistake her as the princess without her royal garb.

She crept through the halls, the boastful looting sourcing louder from the bedrooms and library, and main hall where many valuables were housed. Men jeered on in French, women screaming. Luna froze when she realized what some of them were doing, raping people she’d known. Their cries for help stayed with her, the princess tearing up as she cowardly fled instead of remaining to help. She’d get justice for them, she swore it.

What could one woman do against these squadrons of trained and bloodthirsty soldiers? This was the face of but one battle in the Habsburg-Valois War. And Monaco was just a place to lay stake in regardless of whose lives were lost.

Through the servants’ quarters did Lunafreya sneak through the dark and outside into the narrow olive groves that clung along the cliffside, seeing truly the face of the unfolding battle. Standing stock still, she watched on as ships were gradually set aflame, plumes of smoke joining into one black morass that blocked the moon. The flames of their growing destruction crackled and reflected virulently on the water’s surface, almost losing feeling when it sunk in what was happening.

Tonight, she was without a home, without a kingdom. For if she’d remained, who knew what horrors they would’ve unleashed upon her?

Numbly, Lunafreya began picking her way down the narrow path that led to the docks, the descent risky as cannon fire did not stop despite them having totally taken the palace and through it, the whole of Monaco. Without Ravus, they were rudderless. And what power did she have in their eyes?

She tried to think of where to go from here, her thoughts racing with her heartbeat. Just as she was halfway down, cannons suddenly lobbed and destroyed the path at her feet and before her, uttering a scream as the impact caused her to lose her footing and fall to the tier below, moaning as stones pelted her as the worst had fallen. She spasmodically coughed through the dust cloud, staggering to her feet. She had to keep going!

“You there, boy! Stop right there!” one of the French soldiers menaced just as she’d barely collected herself, balking as they blocked her path, bayonets trained upon her.

Trying to dart the other direction, musket fire just inches from her stride caused her to freeze, malicious and smug laughter sounding from their group. She trained her gaze on them, wide-eyed yet not frightened. At least, not displaying it. They smiled lasciviously.

“Well now, ain’t you a looker for a boy? Why, think we could take you aboard to ‘ave our way with ye, ey?” Oh, God. Please don’t let them mean what they were insinuating! Yet, a chorus of agreement confirmed her worst fears.

Instead, Lunafreya took off in the other direction and leaped off the precipice, plunging at least a good fifty feet into the churning waters of the Mediterranean below.

Upon impact, she blacked out completely before its watery embrace dragged her into murky depths.

* * *

The distant and murky sound of mortar fire surged into her ears when she awoke, Lunafreya lunging with a start from a tarp spread on a wooden floor she didn’t recognize. Reshuffling the events of the night before, she remembered with a feeling of cold dread what had transpired. Realizing the tang of salt and the heave and creaking of old wood, she realized she was aboard a ship.

But, whose ship?

Despite her inertia and vertigo, Lunafreya forced herself to stand and wobbly did she emerge from what seemed a corridor before the captain’s quarters and out to the deck proper where men in unfamiliar dress busily worked, recognizing the mixed orders in Turkish and Arabic. Gazing aloft, the standards flown were not French or Monacan, but that of the Ottoman Empire.

 _Was this some chapter from 1001 Nights?_ she couldn’t help but wonder incredulously. Though, suspicion and guard crept back in, gazing warily.

“Captain, the lad’s awake!”

“So he is.”

Lunafreya swallowed thickly when she was turned by her shoulder, but the action wasn’t brusque. A man donning a turban and plain black and gold kaftan with a thick, red beard presented himself, a wicked looking jeweled scimitar girdled to his waist by a broad blue sash. Keen, fathomless brown eyes scrutinized her, unrelenting.

Refusing to balk, she asked, “Captain— _effendi_?” His brows bounced at her knowledge of Turkish, while in what she assumed was his father tongue, she continued, “My name is Frey, and I was a deckhand in service of House Fleuret-Grimaldi. Might I have your name, sir?” while careful to modulate her voice to sound masculine.

The red-head smiled broadly. “You sure? I haven’t met a French deckhand who speaks fluent Osmanlica. The tongue of the peasantry, perhaps, but that?” He was disarmingly without malevolence. While his crew stared on, no one really eavesdropped.

Oh. Flushing at being caught, she countered, “I’m well-traveled, sir. My grandfather was from the pashalik of Algiers. He taught me well, sir.”

The captain’s smile fell, but his stare did not. “My quarters, boy. Now.” As though the hand of doom had struck, mollified did Lunafreya obey.

She stepped through while the captain skirted around her, seating himself behind a desk in a study that could be the envy of the wealth in Versailles. He motioned at her to close the door, then to sit on a stool within earshot. Steepling his fingers, the man gazed at Lunafreya intently.

“Your Highness, your disguise is admirable, but I assure you this was all deliberate. We know who you are, just as I promised your father I’d protect you. We’re old friends, he and I. You’re safe now, even though your disguise will serve you well. We’d likely have supplied one had you not the prudence to.”

Lunafreya gaped in disbelief. “You knew?”

The captain nodded. “Before we get too far ahead of ourselves, I’m Captain Ilyas Barbarossa of the Sultan’s navy. I’m certain the name is familiar.” Wait— _the_ Barbarossa? Disbelief piled high, but she could believe it. His older brother had been one of the most notorious pirates flying under the Sultan’s standard upon all the Mediterranean. Ilyas himself hadn’t come into notoriety until recently, causing trouble for European powers vying for dominance in the Levant and Maghreb. Especially where the Bosporus in Constantinople was concerned.

“How did you come to know my father?”

Ilyas reclined some in his seat, looking thoughtful. “Your grandfather was Bey of Algiers in his hay day, and he knew my older brother quite closely. I learned about you, and your predicament with the Habsburg-Valois War. His Imperial Majesty sent me as an envoy so their in-fighting wouldn’t touch our territories, but it seems fate decided to reunite the ties between our blood.”

Lunaafreya was taken aback, needing a moment to process everything. Her grandfather, Nadir, had certainly been such, but when he’d wed his second wife, Camelia Claustra—an Austrian noblewoman—their son had little connection to his paternal ties and had served the Holy Roman Emperor as a diplomat all his life.

Blinking herself from her brief rapture, Lunafreya gave Ilyas a questioning look. “I understand, but what is to come of this? I have no intention of letting Monaco remain in Henry II’s hands. I’ll take it back by force if I must.”

Ilyas canted his head at her. “And how do you intend that, Highness? Will you side with the Habsburgs? It’s too risky and they will not see you as a legitimate threat unless you’ve your brother’s backing, and he’s imprisoned by the Valois now, isn’t he?”

Lunafreya grit her teeth, rebutting, “And what must I do then, nothing? No. I left too many people to suffer and I will not let their sacrifices transpire in vain!”

Ilyas sighed, shaking his head. “That’s not possible right now. The only thing you have is your name, and the clothes on your back. Until you can secure an alliance, you’re simply Frey the deckhand. And I’d say that’s a pretty good trade-off. Versus being raped and bayonetted to death like I imagine you saw happen to some of your handmaids.”

She shivered remembering their screams, of it being perpetuated by gangs of godless men upon one defenseless woman. Still, with a gaze full a flint, she sniped back, “I will avenge them, I swear it. If not now, I’ll find a way. You cannot keep me from it.”

A smile spread slowly on the captain’s features, a dark shade over his eyes.

“Then prove me wrong, Your Highness.”


End file.
